The Wasting

Chapter 1: Ahanu

There was an expectant buzz of voices as a young man walked quickly through his village. He had the red-brown skin of his people and the same sleek, black hair his mother had, which he kept in a long braid down his back. Worry and excitement mingled together as the blast of a horn rang out, signaling a village meeting. When Elder Tawa had fallen sick, the village of Anishinabek began to truly worry, and now the Eldest was seeking answers. The Anishinaabeg had not dared allow themselves to think that one of the Elders could fall to the Wasting. Surely, the disease was not strong enough to strip the Elders themselves of their magic, not as it did the weaker users in the village, corroding their powers until they were left with nothing. Still, despite their disbelief, Elder Tawa took a fever, and the protective spells that held the barrier around their village flickered with the threat of falling apart. That day, even the most capable in Anishinabek worried they would be next.

The young man, Ahanu, hoped that they would talk about leaving their lands to find answers. He wanted to volunteer.

Ahanu walked along a wide, stone road where plump houses sat, made of wood and mud which kept them insulated in the winter and cool in the summer. The houses were squat, square things that looked a lot alike but for the trinkets and scarves that hung around the windows and overhangs of each one. The dyed fabrics had family markings and often signified the magic-colors preferred by the family. Green for those who preferred using magic to help upkeep the forests and the harvests, or red for those who kept the hearth and put out the wildfires during the dry seasons. Each color added to the wild beauty of the village.

The hand-paved streets splintered off like spiderwebs, having little to do with planned organization and everything to do with expansion when necessary. Organic. Along those pathways workspaces and shops began to become interspersed among the homes, signs out front carved with symbols and words denoting their products or services. Ahanu paused at one with a quill and parchment and the name 'Aaniin' written across it. His mother and father's shop. They were the history keepers, the scribes, the cartographers. Ahnu stood with a hunter's pack on his back, and he wore the clothes of a profession not his parents'. He rubbed his jaw and hurried on.

"Ahanu!"

He didn't need to turn around to know who had called him. He'd grown up with Bimisi and would recognize her voice anywhere. He spun on his heel and watched her jog up with a set of hares hanging from her belt. She and Ahanu were hunters for the village.

"Catch anything?" she beamed, dark brown hair loose around her shoulders and framing her lean face.

Ahanu frowned. Just what he needed, her pride-filled smile of smugness. Still, he stopped to let her catch up. He looked up at the taller hunter and said, "It was too early in the afternoon. Aiming for a deer. I was planning to camp out and trap it in the morning, but then the horn sounded."

He heard her hum, a little irritating noise near the back of her throat that he recognized as the one she made when judging another hunter's catch. "Well, maybe next time then, huh? What do you think Magaskawee is calling everyone in for?"

There was a small pile of stones near the path and Ahanu blinked a bit longer than usual. "The plague, what else?" he hummed back at Bimisi as the stones glowed like a light sat inside of the pile and then tumbled into her pathway. It was childish of him, but when she stumbled, Ahanu smirked.

She grabbed his arm to steady herself, sucking in a surprised breath. "I knew that much. I meant, do you think they'll eventually try to fix things?" She looped an arm through Ahanu's as they continued toward the lodge. She planted herself firmly at his side, and he wondered yet again how she'd decided he was the one to make friends with. Of course, Ahanu's childish actions only ever served to make things worse for himself with her.